Though our eye in recent seasons
Has a wild and glassy glare,
And we fail to offer reasons
For the straws that deck our hair;
There are certain consolations
That are unction for the soul
When we view the older nations
Gone completely up the pole.

We may be mad, but not so mad
As others quite bereft
Of reason. Though our case is sad,
We've sparks of gumption left.
For, while we have the art to see
From this our island raft,
How mad the other nations be
That sail the economic sea,
We're not completely daft.

In regard to hops and butter,
Wheat and sugar, things like these
Our insanity is utter
As evinced by subsidies.
In regard to other matters,
As events have proved today,
We're not quite as mad as haters
Or not so far anyway.

And tho' our land's a troubled land,
But few of us are found
Making insane attempts to stand
'With ears upon the ground.'
Contortionists might very well
Attempt it without fear;
But it must come of stuff they sell
When Breweries, as judges tell,
Are standing on their ears.